The Side of the Road
by sigma-epsilon
Summary: Beckett's cruiser breaks down. Set somewhere in the middle of season four. One-shot.


**Author's Note: So, I lied a little. _This_ was actually my first piece of Castle fanfiction (I wrote it about a week before I started It's Late). Daphnebeauty gave me what was quite possibly the weirdest prompt in the history of prompts, and told me to run with it. So I did. Hope you enjoy it!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Castle. This is for fun, not profit. **

When Beckett's cruiser sputters and chugs to a halt on the shoulder of I-87 north, Castle reflexively sticks his head under the rearview mirror and searches the sky for black helicopters or UFO's.

There aren't any, but he had been totally prepared to throw himself out the door and barrel roll to the sound barrier if need be. The suit jacket he's wearing is pretty expensive, though, so he's glad he checked first.

He hears his partner huff a sharp breath through her nose and crank the column shifter into park with more force than necessary. The car is painfully silent for a few beats. "So," he starts meekly. A hand cuts him off, and he snaps his mouth shut so hard his teeth click. Beckett rubs the bridge of her nose, and he thinks that right now probably isn't a great time to point out that the air inside the car is already getting uncomfortably hot.

After a few more moments of tense silence, he jumps when Beckett whips her phone out and begins to thumb through her contacts. "You have Triple A, right?" He nods. "Call a tow truck, I'll take care of Gates."

Castle stumbles his way out of the car before she has the chance to change her mind.

Not two minutes later, the call is placed and a tow truck is on its way – "_As fast as possible, Mr. Castle. Anything for the boys in blue._" – and wow, he's dreading that wait. Pissed Beckett plus bored Castle equals –

Well. Nothing good for him.

"Tow truck on its way?" He hears the driver door clap shut, and turns to see her walk to the front of the vehicle. Thankfully, her face is less pinched than it was before. He wonders how a conversation with their bristly captain made that happen.

"Uh-huh. Thirty minutes or less." A passing tractor trailer drowns out the last couple of words, but he thinks she got the gist. "What do we do in the mean time?" he asks, stepping up to join her at the bumper. To his surprise, she hops up on the hood and scoots back to the windshield, patting the space next to her. He clambers up clumsily, almost sliding off the side before settling.

The heat from the metal seeps through his clothes, but a steady breeze and the fact that he's rubbing forearms with Kate more than compensates. He's content to lie beside her for a half an hour, listening to the dull roar of cars passing.

"A basketball."

Apparently, she has other ideas. "What?" He cranes his head, looking around to see if there's a basketball somewhere on the freeway.

One of her arms lifts, a slender finger pointing to a circular cloud with a few gray lines cutting across it. "That cloud. Looks like a basketball."

Ah. Cloud watching? Alright then. "A basketball? That's embarrassingly amateur, Beckett."

She frowns and turns back to the sky, eyebrows furrowed. He has to bite his lip to contain his grin. After a few moments, she lightly slaps his arm and points to the left.

"There. A broadsword." He follows her line of sight and sees a thin streak of white with two puffs one either side about three-quarters of the way down.

"Really? To my discerning eye, it looks more like a pe –"

He yelps when she pinches him in the side, and he giggles unrepentantly. "Alright, let's see you do better," she snarks. He smiles broadly.

"Challenge accepted, Detective." Cracking his knuckles for no other purpose than to get her to roll her eyes – which she does – he scans the skies, analyzing the clouds for any unique or recognizable things. His eyes land on a conically-shaped cloud with wisps trailing out on both narrow edges. "Ha!" he jabs a finger at it. "Shawarma spit!"

She scoffs. "Oh, come on Castle. Isn't making up terms just a little below you?"

He's indignant. "Excuse me, Beckett. Best-selling author here. I pride myself on my extensive knowledge of international culture and cuisine. I'd never stoop to –"

"Hush, Castle. I know what shawarma is." She's smirking like she's one-upped him, and he's simultaneously irritated and aroused.

"Yeah…" he says, drawing out the syllable, "I don't believe you." He squints nonchalantly at a bird that flies across his field of vision.

Thing is, he does believe her. There's no doubt in his mind that Kate Beckett knows exactly what shawarma means. It doesn't matter though, because there's only two ways to wipe that smug look off her face: question her integrity, or kiss her until she forgets what she was smug about.

Better safe than sorry, he says.

He hears her suck in a breath, and barely refrains from fist pumping in victory. "Shawarma is a Levantine Arab meat preparation, where meats such as lamb, goat, chicken, turkey, or beef are placed on a rotating spit and grilled for up to a day. Shavings are cut off the block of meat and served while the remainder of the block of meat is kept heated on the spit. It's a fast-food staple across the Middle East, Europe and the Caucasus."

Her face is flushed and her chest is heaving by the end of the summary, which is a huge bonus for him, and Castle doesn't even try to muzzle the chuckle that bursts forth. "What?" she says, teeth gritted.

It's his turn to smile smugly. "I believed you initially, but I wanted to see how far you would go to prove it."

"Castle," she sighs, sounding annoyed, but her twitchy lips betray her, as they always do.

For at least ten minutes, they continue cloud watching, until Castle begins making everything dirty and Beckett threatens to shove him into the slow lane.

"Would you want to name a character in the next Nikki Heat novel?" he asks after making sure he has somewhere sturdy to grip in case she decides to follow through on her threat. Beckett cuts her eyes to him, one eyebrow kinked.

"You'd let me do that?"

"Yeah, why not?"

"Well, I could pick an awful name like Apple, or Moon Unit."

"You could, but you wouldn't."

"You sound pretty sure."

"I would, of course, give full credit in the acknowledgements."

"Oh, of course."

"Wouldn't dream of stealing your ideas, Detective." She scoffs and rolls her eyes.

"Can I at least know the gender of said hypothetical character?"

"Transvestite."

"Oh, come on."

"Exercise those creative muscles, Beckett. I know you've got 'em."

There's a moment's pause. "Alright. Gender neutral names it is." She bites her lip, and Castle has to suppress an involuntary groan. "How about Jessie?"

"Eh."

"Chris?"

"Better."

"Sydney?"

"Hey, I have a cousin named Sydney."

"He or she?"

Castle has to think about this for a moment. "He."

Beckett hums. "How about Ashley?"

"As in, Alexis' ex-boyfriend Ashley?

"Right, no Ashley. Jean?"

It's your choice, Beckett. Honestly. Whatever you want," he offers, palms sweeping in front of him. Her eyebrows furrow.

"Wait, really? You're serious?"

"As a heart attack." He watches a light blush dust her cheeks, and she smiles.

"Wow, uh… I'm honored. Thank you."

He shrugs and returns her smile. "I figure if I give you this, you'll let me name our first chi –" he cuts himself off far too late, and fixes his eyes on nearby graffiti, trying not to think about the look on her face. The silence is painful, unbroken even by the continuous rumble of wheels on pavement.

After at least thirty seconds – he was not counting in his head – he feels the light touch of her fingertips on his wrist. Gulping, he turns to face judgment.

Her eyes are tender, however, and his relief is immeasurable. "How about we file that away in the 'things to address later' folder?" she says, voice calm and assured. The lump in his throat has rendered him speechless, so he merely nods.

The moment is broken by a couple of honks, and a massive tow truck pulls off the road in front of them. Before he can blink, Beckett hops off the hood and strides toward the driver, who has just jumped down from the cab. Castle lets his head fall back against the windshield, sighing.

For all their subtext, he wouldn't be surprised if that folder is accordion rather than manila.


End file.
